Moonrise

Moonrise, nothing angular about her

but the effect, pocked cool harlot

whose sheer moves between buildings

toting garbage

flings me out delight.

Can I take less of autumn than she

clear into winter, can I value the less

fortunate who acts better and better

balances but to be seen?

Belong to me,

twotimer, partner in climbing erosion;

you nowise furnish me the handholds

into the blind loveseat, but repair

to it costing a bit of smile.

We trial

the whole lover under your still veil,

moon never ready quite to die. Dumb

whore put out the light to cross over,

dump me then to distances and night.